The One Where I Argue with God

Yesterday, I met a 17 year old who was expecting.

She came in to see me with a question about senior pictures - a lovely task I'm in charge of at school - and she was obviously pregnant.

My senior students later filled me in on the fact that she was not only pregnant, but was also having her second baby at their age with the second baby's daddy she'd found.

So, yes, two different babies' daddies; two different babies; one extremely lost little-girl-turned-mommy.

At the time, I listened to my students express shock at even fathoming parenthood at their age.

They also expressed dismay that this girl, weeks away from her second birth, spent many a night out on the town, drinking, smoking and sleeping around. All while pregnant with - one more time for the people in the back - her SECOND child.

Not to mention that neither one of her babies' fathers had stuck around long enough to help her.

She was, quite literally, on her own in the world. With two babies. At 17.

My kids were disgusted.

I was just horrified.

And mad.

Really, really mad.

Because that little girl didn't want those two little babies. And that little girl didn't know how to care for those two little babies. And that little girl didn't have the means to provide for those two little babies.

After all, that little girl didn't even know how to love herself yet, let alone love those two little babies.

What was wrong with this picture? I just didn't understand.

I sat there and fought back tears. Angry, hot tears.

And I yelled - in my head, but still ever-so-loudly - at God.

Because I can't wrap my head around how this is OK. I don't understand how God would give her not one, but two babies.

Two babies she didn't even want, and two babies she's already well on her way to damaging.

It wasn't fair, I thought, it just wasn't.

For this very weekend, I'm off to throw a baby shower for a friend. One of my best friends. One of my best friends who, for the last three years, has fought tooth and nail to have a baby. She and her husband have endured grief and strife and pain and agony just to conceive and keep a baby warm and safe in her womb. And, thank the Lord, she's finally got her baby, due five weeks from today.

But it was painful while it lasted. As their friend, it was horrible to watch them suffer.

All while there was a little girl getting pregnant without wanting to.

So, now, I'm mad.

I'm mad that God let this happen; I'm mad that He hasn't, in turn, let it happen for so many of the rest of us.

I struggle to understand it; I ask for help understanding it. But I am still unsure why God has let countless women suffer, barren, while giving those not yet ready for motherhood a child, let alone more than one.

I worry about the children born into the arms of mother's who don't want them; I ache to hold my own baby and in some way, love it so much that I can counteract all that hurt in the world.

And I argue with God about why it hasn't happened yet. Why it hasn't happened for so many of us. Why it hasn't happened for me. For my friend. For some of you. For any woman who is married and stable and devoted and, in almost all ways, blessed.

Except she doesn't have her babies yet.

Others do.

Others have babies they give fetal alcohol syndrome; others have babies they leave with their parents so they can go out and party six nights a week; others have babies they curse and swear at during midnight feedings, mid-morning naps, and late-afternoon playtime; others have babies they'll tote along to their freshmen year of high school.

Babies have babies.

And I don't.

I've cried that "It's not fair!" I've screamed that "It's not right!" And I've argued.

And argued and argued and argued.

And prayed.

But I still don't understand.

Something tells me, I probably never will.

Even when I have babies of my own, I'll wonder about it. I'll pray about it. I might even still get mad about it.

But for now, I sit at my desk, alone. And cry after that sweet, lost, pregnant-with-her-second child little girl walks out the door.

For I don't begrudge her anything. I want her and her babies to be happy and healthy.

But she also has the one thing I want and can't have. She has the one thing I want that I won't be able to even think about having until at least June. She has the one thing I want that I'm afraid I'll never have.

So I sit, and I argue with God.

Because I don't understand. And I'm worried I never will.

***

I know, I know. It's like Debbie Downer Central around here this week. I promise, I won't be such a glum chum next week. I'm working on remaining positive during the hubs' absence, and I'm very excited to spend the weekend with one of my best friends and throw her a bang-up baby shower. I will have no choice but to smile through all of that!

So, until next week, Happy Friday! Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend.

Workout Wednesday: When it counts for something bigger

It' s a holiday today.

Veteran's Day.

And because I'm feeling a little under the weather and because I also have the day off from work, I wasn't going to blog today.

I just wasn't feeling it.

But then I got an e-mail from my favorite client.

And I remembered what today is really all about...

***

About six months ago, a twitchy girl walked into the gym I work at.

I say twitchy because she had a nervous energy; she checked over her shoulder a lot.

She spoke fast, and she spoke with anxiety.

She'd never worked out in a "normal" gym before in her life, she told me.

She hadn't had the chance.

After finishing high school, she joined the Army. She went to Iraq. For two separate tours. She served her country, because, in her words, she "felt like she was obligated to."

I found all this out after she took a strength-training class with me, after she stayed behind to tell me that she planned on working out with me as much as she could, unless the Army Reserves called her up for the responsibilities she still had, as she was technically still enlisted.

I was in awe; I'd never heard a woman talk like that before.

A lot of my family is in the military; my husband just joined the U.S. Navy. I have friends with husbands in all different branches of our Armed Forces, and while I abhor the idea of settling disputes with guns, I admire so deeply the service our military personnel give of themselves.

But I'd never had a woman, a woman just a little bit younger than me, talk about an obligation she had to keep with such reverence and honesty.

So she and I continued to train together. She kept her promise and was at the gym almost religiously.

Unless the Army called her up, needing to take care of something or other.

Then she'd disappear.

I was always terrified she'd be stop-lossed, that she'd go back to the Middle East even though she'd done her time.

And that I'd never see her again.

But so far, that hasn't happened.

She always comes back, with a smile and a shrug and the ever-present phrase, "you know, working for the Army."

And then we continue to train; me yelling at her to squat deeper and her telling me about her service for our country.

About how she doesn't regret a second of it; about how she's terrified she'll have to go back overseas; about how she put her life on the line; about how she feels a moral sense of obligation, despite disagreeing with so many of the higher-ups in the Army.

I was truly in awe.

Truly inspired.

She was a veteran unlike any other I'd ever met.

She was young, pretty, fun, sweet, honest, capable, smart.

But she was twitchy.

She still checks over her shoulder.

She still watches everyone out of the corner of her eye.

She still seems slightly uncomfortable in a "normal" gym.

All because she's a veteran, a U.S. solider who gave up a "normal" life because she felt an obligation to serve her country, to serve you, me, all of us - fellow women and men she'd never even met.

I am honored to be her trainer. I am honored to be her friend.

And though I sometimes flinch in horror at the wars going on in the Middle East, I am honored and touched beyond measure by what she and others have done, amidst public dissent, lack of support, and ignorance with regards to our Armed Forces.

Because gone are the days of veterans appearing as old men, worn and vaguely reminiscent of wars past.

Veterans no longer look just like that. They are women and men; they are young, and they are twitchy.

Because their war is not vaguely reminiscent.

Not yet.

But neither is their service to our country.

A service they gifted to all of us without knowing us.

A service my favorite client gifted me before ever walking into a "normal" gym.

I am just so blessed to be able to thank her for it today.

Happy Veteran's Day.